


Girls, Grab your Combat Boots and Magic Wands

by oxfordRoulette



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, F/M, Feminist Themes, Gen, Illustrated, Magical Girls
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-26
Updated: 2012-12-27
Packaged: 2017-11-22 12:00:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/609605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oxfordRoulette/pseuds/oxfordRoulette
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three friends, three hearts, three loves. The war stories of magical girls, or, how to fight your own battles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Catch You, Catch Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [heartfeltdisease](https://archiveofourown.org/users/heartfeltdisease/gifts).



> This is written for Ladystuck 2012, and the prompt requested was "Anything in a magical girl AU."
> 
> This was an absolute honor to create. I hope that you all enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing and illustrating. And to heartfeltdisease -- Have a wonderful rest of the winter!
> 
> **Important information:**
> 
> Possibly triggering scenes in second chapter. Please highlight here for related semi-spoilery tags [Attempted rape scene, graphic gore description, illustrated violence].
> 
> All character costumes will be listed at the end of the fic, as well as the series they are from, in case if your nostalgia isn't ringing any bells.

Your name is Terezi Pyrope, and you stand vigilant over your kingdom.

(with a few friends)

The city below you is infested. You smell unsavory creatures worm their way through the dirt of forgotten gutters. You taste the scum flake from over-baked underworld and poke its head into your delicious domain. You can almost see the injustice before you through your burnt eyeballs.

“Why'd you stab me in the ass, you crusty chode?”

“That was only the prick of justice spurring you onwards.” You say. You bump her in the rear with your staff again, for good measure.

“Sharkface, when I ask you a question, you better answer the damn question.” She brushes off her shoulders, even though there isn't any dust on her, spreads her stance, and places a peace sign above her forehead. You smell licorice braids flare dramatically about her.

“Wow, every time! How do you even manage to do that?” says Nyanpeta. “You are purrfectly lined up with the moon behind you! Can I snap a pic?”

“Shell yeah, you can! Send it to me!”

You focus your attentions on the city when Nyanpeta whips out her camera phone. You hear the satisfied smack of their high-five behind you. 

You rip forth the Fly card from your deck, striking it with your staff like the gavel of a judge. You swing your left leg with the utmost grace over the pole, feeling the dragon wings flare out from the head behind you.

“Every time. You look like you're humping that stick.”

Nyanpeta nodded. “I ship it.”

“Go back to your silly posing, you... posers.” You say in their general direction. Maybe you were a bit off with the direction of your voice? Sometimes your friends have to deal with your blindness and all the nuances it comes with. You respect them for accepting you.

“Wow, who were you even talking to, you disabled fuck?”

“We're over here, CCTZ!” says Nyanpeta.

“Stop making fun of a blind girl!” you yell. You decide it is time for a quick getaway.

Wings bat against the roof, tapping out rad beats against the concrete. You push off, flying into the campfire smoke sky. You taste bitter watermelon skin and sweet artificial grape jump across the lower levels of a tasteless city. You follow your senses and seek out villainy from the sky.

You wonder what injustices shall be committed on this planet today? Bank robbers, wife beaters, or maybe even supernatural threats? You always hope for that last one, they generally provide the best entertainment. Of course, you and your friends are equipped for any challenge that these forces might present. They might be tough as butter brickle, or strong as a coconut, but you know evil will never win. Evil doesn't have the Cardcaptor Terezi powerhouse on their side!

Sailor Pieces' blip on your smell-o-radar stops moving. You nudge your staff into a sideways dive, giggling as the first lift of anti-gravity wells up in your stomach. You meet Sailor Pieces in close quarters, nudged between a grassy dumpster containing grease from an Indian restaurant and the smoky wall of a bar smelling like sick. Nyanpeta rolls into the alleyway to hide with you both.

“Oh, you found something!” she says, nuzzling Sailor Pieces' fin.

“Holy Moses, Mew Nyanplankton, you smell like catnip.”

“Oh gosh, are my eyes red too?”

You cannot have group attention waver at such a critical moment! You tap your staff against the dumpster. Some rust hits the floor like overdone pie crust. “Why did we stop?”

“What do you mean, 'why did we stop?' Turn your gaping maw towards that travel agency across the street.”

You open your mouth and swing some saliva into the wind. You lick the gray of the street, the gray of the buildings, and then the indistinguishable taste of the trademark mead of bottomfeeders: Grape Faygo.

“Clown,” you whisper.

“Mr. Zealot walks slowly, unaware that his predators watch him from the dark.” says Nyanpeta. She hunkers down to the ground, her eyes following the clown with interest. “He drags his weapons: a pair of juggling, uh, things? Sticks?”

“Clubs,” you and Sailor Pisces say at the same time.

“Thank you, gals. A pair of clubs. He whispers to himself, rambling off prophecies only the brilliant can pawsibly comprehend.... or debunk.”

They both look at you. “What?” you ask. “I appreciate the compliment, but I am not brilliant enough to interpret his odd sing-songs.”

“Aren't you like, the clown whisperer or some shit?” says Sailor Pisces.

Nyanpeta's eyebrow pops with enthusiasm. “That is not a good rolepurray point, Sailor Pisces. I don't think CCTZ should add that on to her list of character traits.”

While you might not agree with the 'life is a roleplay' motto all the time, you do enjoy playing a good story. “The hammer of justice agrees with the huntress. She sneaks up on the braided girl, ready to lock the Sailor's fishy lips together with the use of the Silence card.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Nyanpeta joins her in teasing the prey, pawing at her fins with playful intent.” Nyanpeta does as such. Sailor Pisces' fin springs back like fresh angel food cake.

“Okay I am flippin' done with you guys, lets just krill this fucker.”

Nyanpeta thrusts her laced rump into the air and crouches on her knuckles, the ruffles of her dress furring up in anticipation. She pounces into the street, Sailor Pieces twirling close behind. You follow last, your deck at your hip, ready to pull out whatever card suits your needs.

“Welcome sisters,” says the clown, his arms spreading wide. “I wondered when you MOTHERFUCKING SONS OF BITCHES would be leaving the dark corners and stains of the unclean to come join me in sweet, sweet celebration.”

“The only celebration we'll be having is the corpse party. When you're dead. Bitch.” Sailor Pisces says. She checks behind her for an appropriate moon background and poses.

“We will have to sweep your gelatinous body off the streets when we're done.” you say. 

“We're going to mewtilate you!” says Nyanpeta, still low to the ground.

“Words, words, FUCKING WORDS,” says the clown. “Why talk in front of your so called villain, motherfuckers, when my destruction will bring about a new age of joyous carnival? A festival to bring about the old order and restore SWEET MOTHERFUCKING BALANCE.”

“Oh my glub, shut up, we've heard this shit six billion times.”

As much as you love a good exposition and justice speech before killing the villain, you decide to cut it short. He appears to be repeating the same script the other clowns had. “Lets go, everybody!”

He swings his clubs around, and in a whirr of purple, throws them at Nyanpeta. She dodges. You use your Shot card, starting simple, and fire a barrage of projectiles at the clown. He sidesteps all of them, and rushes you. You use the Shield card with a nanosecond to spare, and his direct hit on your skull isn't felt. You look for help. Your friends are still posing up a storm. You thank your lucky stars your powers don't depend on how stylish your summoning procedure is.

Your shield cracks, and you use Jump. You get remarkably high up, but he's still after you. When you reach the end of your arc, he grabs your ankle and drags you to the concrete. You bang your knees and wince.

“Rose Bell, Full Power!”

“Moon Gorgeous Meditation!”

You hit your own face in lieu of defending yourself. Why do they even have to yell out their attacks? You're suffering some major secondhand embarrassment.

You've never figured out how your friends use their powers. It usually just destroys the bad guy in an incredibly vague way with a lot of lights, shimmers, and rainbows. Whenever you try to demand an explanation, they always dart away. When the strawberry sparkle show ceases, the clown remains with his hands over his head, screaming.

“Dark!” Sometimes it's easy to get in the spirit of things and you yell out your cards as well.

A woman in black appears behind him, emerging from a sudden void in the street. She grabs his arms and pulls him down. His arms unfold and he's staring right at you.

“All these little acts are stacking up UP UP ON TOP OF ONE A-FUCKING-NOTHER. With all this hate, little girls, he will come in due time. Hate will bring what is rightfully due.”

The woman pulls him into her home, and he disappears into the road, his laughter snuffed in the Dark.

You stare at the spot he melded into for a long time.

“Hey guys, we should probably figure out what he's talking about. Maybe these clowns are serious.”

“The cat looks up at her friend the Cardcaptor with an inquisitive tilt of her head.”

“Just in case they're onto something. We don't want another giant rat pandemic of 2008 to go down again, do we? They're still in the sewers you know, just waiting.”

“I thought they were cuddly.” says Nyanpeta.

“What are you suggesting, Carpcaptor?”

“Maybe go over a list of suspects, draft up possibilities, investigate a crime scene, find out where these guys are coming from.”

Your friends both cross their arms at the same time.

“Alright, fine,” you say, throwing up your hands. “Tomorrow, my apartment. I'll provide lunch.”

Nyanpeta narrows her eyes.

“And I will provide an assortment of stereotypical dollar store Japanese treats.”

Nyanpeta makes a little paw-ing motion. “The huntress is pleased.”

You ready your fly card. You have some late night food shopping to do.

\---

“So, Sharptooth, what have you got for us?”

You explain how all the clowns you've killed have hailed the resurrection of their leader through some hatred related procedure. You theorize the sacrifice of their lives is leading towards some sort of cumulative event and is one of the many possible “rituals” for summoning “him.” Whoever that “him” might be. You also mention how the clowns look like all the magical girls. Same candy cane horns, same dull gray skin. You feel as though this is significant in some way, as your powers and their origins are still covered with a veil of mystery your tastebuds cannot pierce. Your friends agree, and ask if you have any leads.

You dig under your beanbag for your pride and joy. A binder filled with all magical persons and relations you are aware of in the whole country. Sections are divided by area, with three different tabs in each: Good, ???, and Bad-- which includes defeated and current villains. You take a whiff of it. You will have to change the folder color soon, you're getting tired of blackberry. You flip to your area.

“My extensive and elaborately researched database on all possible suspects.”

You flip to the Bad section first. Elegant pictures greet you, taken by an obvious photography expert. But you're not bragging by any means.

“We don't have any active bad guys in there, do we?” asks Nepeta.

“Nope. They're all defeated. I just flipped here to show how awesome we are at taking out the trash.”

You all do a three way fistbump with a hand explosion afterwords.

“Flip to the good guys,” says Meenah.

“Right, the enemy could be right under our nostrils.” you say. Meenah can be brilliant sometimes.

“I actually want to see what pic you've got of me in there. But that's cool too.”

“I don't take either of your entries too seriously,” you say, flipping to Meenah's page. “They're just mostly there for data completion purposes.”

  
M33N4H P31X3S  
COD3N4M3: S41LOR P1SC3S  
4 L1TTL3 CRUSTY BUT SOFT 4S 4PPL3 P13 ON TH3 1NS1D3  
H4S 4 T4STY BRO4CH!

“What the glubbing haddock is this picture? It doesn't even look like me."

“I think it's cute!” says Nepeta.

"Can you even take pictures in .jpeg format? I want to flip a fish just looking at this." 

“Turn to my page!” Nepeta bounces into your beanbag.

  
N3P3T4 L31JON  
COD3N4M3: NY4NP3T4  
ROL3PL4Y3R W1TH 4 H34RT OF R1CH 4LMOND TRUFFL3! M1GHT H4V3 4 DRUG PROBL3M

“I do not have a drug purroblem.”

Meenah points to the picture on the opposite side of Nepeta's page. “God this little fuck looks insufferable. Although that might just be the image quality.”

  
K4RK4T V4NT4S  
COD3N4M3: 1 DONT TH1NK H3 H4S ON3???  
M4G1C4L BOY 1N OUR 4R34 4 TH13F W1TH W1NGS??? CH4NG3S 1NTO H1S M4G1C4L BOY FORM WH3N H3 L1K3S 4 G1RL >:[

Meenah picks at the corner of his picture. "I didn't know we had no magical boys." She points to a particularly bad pixel cluster. "Okay, who the fuck took these? These are the worst pics I've ever sea-n."

“It was China boy!” Nepeta grins. “You remember him, Meenah? He took our pictures too! That's why they look so cool.”

“Oh, that lil' punk. With the ironic streak. Helped you out in more ways than one, Terezi. A hurr hurr hurr. Let's see a picture of him, is he in here too?” She grabs for the binder. You are rather proud of your photographer, so you show her his page. He makes the best images, his is especially nice.

  
dave stridrizzle  
codename: snoop lion  
fuckin beast of nature from china  
good photographer best dick

You're not sure why but pixelated comic sans is the tastiest font.

“Did you ever give him that Scalemate you made?” Nepeta asks.

You did. It was in the airport and was by far the most dramatic thing you have ever done. There was lens flare and everything.

You flip to the ??? section, hoping that Nepeta can satisfy herself with fanfiction instead of explanation.

“Is that your sister?” asks Nepeta. She opens a box of Pocky. 

  
L4TUL4 PYROP3  
COD3N4M3: R4D1C4L G1RL L4TUL4  
P4RT13S TOO MUCH!

“I moved her to the ??? section, she's been ignoring her responsibility of those blessed with these powers,” you say. Meenah raises an eyebrow at you. “Although there isn't a law written in stone, it is generally assumed magical girls work for the greater good.”

You discovered your sister was a magical girl at a young age. You asked your mother if she was one as well, but she laughed and complimented you on your big imagination. Latula was the only one who could share in your experiences, and you two used to protect the innocent with sharp swords and dashing wit. But when you moved to the big city together, her boyfriend died and she found someone else to pretend to be normal with.

“She doesn't have enough tact to command an army of dark clowns,” you say. “Besides, the only thing Latula would try to summon would be the ult1m1t3 g4m3 control3r.”

Meenah snarls at the next page. “Ugh, and here's this beach. Move her to the Baddies section already.”

  
VR1SK4 S3RK3T  
COD3N4M3: PR1NC3SS SP1NN3R3T  
4N 3XTR3M3LY D1FF1CULT OPPON3NT W1TH QU3ST1ON4BL3 MOR4LS! (how d1d sh3 l34rn b4ll3t?)

You make a motion to unhook the metal links, but you hesitate. You met Vriska when you moved here. She took the place of Latula, and you crafted yourself into a partner to fit her whims. Together you ruled the streets, but Vriska caused more mayhem than you were comfortable with. Your petty fights escalated into something violent, causing the loss of your vision and the removal of Vriska's eye and arm in her human form. You met your current friends when they heard your cries for help. You cut off contact with her after that incident, but she's continued her antics. 

“I will wait for contradictory evidence suggesting she is bad to the bone, and then I will move her to the villainous section.” It's true. But the real reason you never move her is because Vriska was your first friend. And you do have an odd sort of faith in her, even if she is commanding an army of clowns.

“She's going on the suspect list in my book.” says Nepeta. She flips the page.

???  
COD3N4M3: SC13NT1ST T41L  
H4NGS OUT W1TH K4RK4T??? T4ST3S L1K3 W3T DOG??? N33D MOR3 1NFORM4T1ON 4ND STUDY!

“Wow, what a great picture of an arm.” says Meenah.

“Stop making fun of a blind girl!” you say. Scientist Tail popped up fairly recently. You took 200 shots and this was the most acceptable one. “Dave wasn't around for taking pictures.”

“This entry isn't even useful, what does an arm tell us?”

“Use your roleplaying skills, Meenah.” says Nepeta. “This arm could be the black, gloved arm used to conduct an army of violent clowns, bent on resurrecting her master.”

“Vriska's still number one on my shit list.” says Meenah. She points to the next page. “Your boy toy wasn't around for this one either. What the shell is this?”

???  
COD3N4M3: ???  
T4ST3S L1K3 GR33N 4PPL3 4ND 3ROT1C4

“It's a leg. A gartered, scandalous thigh, in fact. That happens to be the great and glorious universe in the background! I'm not actually sure how I managed to photograph space too.”

“You know what, I changed my mind, this beach is numero uno. On my shit list. We have so much information on her.”

“She appeared for about a second,” you say. “I didn't have time to get a good whiff. I wasn't even in my magical girl form. I just snapped the picture.”

“When'd she show up?”

“Around a week ago. I was walking from the grocery store, and she... The best way I can describe it is that she phased in and out. She dissipated into tasteless nothingness in the swipe of a tongue.”

“Actually,” says Nepeta, placing two pocky sticks under her teeth to look like fangs. “This sounds pretty suspicious. Phasing in and out of existence? And the clowns have been increasing in number in the past few weeks! Maybe it's her that's being summoned.”

“Because hatred summons a giant, gartered leg. Floating around in fucking space.” says Meenah, toying with her hair. “Alright, you got it. We solved the case. We glubbing pawnched it in the face and teabagged its unconscious body.”

“Hey, this is better than nothing!” says Nepeta. “What else do we have to go on?”

You all collectively sigh, falling back into your seating with a ruffle of beans. You hear an explosion from outside. It rouses you into alert mode, and you bounce to your feet. Your friends rush to the window.

“There's smoke on top of that building!” says Nepeta. You taste something disgusting from far away, like licking a bone. “Lets go!”

You watch your friends materialize their magical girl costumes out of nowhere while dancing around on their toes. You shake your head and go to your closet, selecting a jazz apple flavored outfit. You change clothes and release your staff into “regular size mode,” your skin color graying and horns growing when you do so. When you come back, your friends are still twirling around. You hear three screams from outside. One stops as soon as you walk in the room. One crescendos, increasing in intensity and bitterness. The other decrescendos, struggling and broken. 

You open your window and use the Jump card.


	2. Surpassing Time

Your name is Jade Harley.

And you've always wanted to be a magical girl.

Wait, no! You don't want to start there, you want to start a bit later.

Your name is Jade Harley, and you sit next to the second most insufferable kid at University.

He's a thin little thing, but no one can tell because his body is covered in mountains of clothes. You wonder how he can even go outside without dying of heatstroke! His face is covered in piercings, a poor attempt to be punk. You don't really think he needs anything to differentiate himself, since his hair is the color of a collection of wedding silverware forgotten in a drawer by a divorced couple. 

He's loud and annoying and asks questions in class about dumb things even though everybody already knows the answer! His notes are in your personal space. You don't even know how he keeps them organized, it looks like he just kind of plops a pile of paper down, scatters them around the table, and writes on whatever white space he finds. You try to lean in closer to figure out what he's actually writing. Your professor is just doing end of class announcements! You don't get a chance to read too closely, as the lecture ends and Insufferable #2 packs up in a hurry.

A voice sounds from behind you. “Heeeeeeeey there Harley!”

You also happen to sit in front of the most insufferable kid at University. She's a natural red head who dyed her hair bleach blond trying to emulate her idol Ke$ha. You can tell she's a natural red head because the dye never made it to her roots. She's got an eyepatch and a prosthetic lower arm she puts a hook on. You could never shake the feeling there's something familiar about her, and that sits in the pit of your stomach every time your eyes grace the freckles dappling her cheeks.

You found that subtly is lost on Vriska Serket, so you turn towards her, let out the loudest sigh you can gather from your uncaring lungs, roll your eyes, and cross your arms.

She does not take the hint. “So, did you take any good notes during the class? Can I have them? Hmm?” She draws out the 'hmm,' leaning over the counter that separates you and looking you dead in the eye. You look around for help. Insufferable #2 has already left. 

“I did, Vriska.” you say. “But it's your fault for not paying attention in class! So no, you can't see them.” You stick out your tongue, because fuck her. She does this every day! She should learn to pay attention.

“Oh, coldhearted Ms. Know-it-All wont be charitable! Her icy heart will not melt for poor, intellectually starved Vriska. She'll never feed her family with these grades now! And it's all because of Jade, Jade Harley.” Vriska drapes herself over the counter, throwing her hand to her face. “My family will starve because of you.”

“Good!” you say. You hope they do. You gave her notes on the first day of class, and you never got them back, and she's asked every day since. And she's really weird, she'll come up to you in the quad when you're on your laptop and bother you incessantly. You think she might be stalking you, but besides for the notes, you can't fathom a reason she would do this.

"Maybe you could give them to me sometime and we could study together?" she says. "You can buy me coffee."

A disgruntled gargle just kind of pops out of your mouth. You leave before she can say anything else.

In short, you really do not like Vriska Serket!

\---

You decide to go out with your friends on a Friday night. You put on your blue dress that makes your butt look adorable, and prepare for a nice time. You head to a club, grab a few drinks, bump up against a few adorable dudes, a few drinks, a few adorable ladies, a few more drinKs, a few more Peeople, a Feew more drInks, wash, rrinse *rinse, repeaat. YoOu haave a loot of fuun! but yooou think itsa bout time to goo home. You've caNt find yoer friends twhen youw want to leabe. You fill kindaa ill, so u heaad outside. You shoul8 have taken a cab???, but you decide to waLk. You'RE ppretyy much likake an aamazonn warrir anyways. u oWN the place. yer just fine al0ne.

whoS tha't behind you???? THer's li3k fouraf um or some shit yOu're a rockets scientist yiu shoUlden't BE expecTED to coount. you ahave peons for thaat. you goo doawn sunshine street. . wait no? yooure on sunrise street??? oopsies poopSies you doNt remem8er wWHer you at *are? looks to BE u tuk arwrong turn maybe a RIGHT or a L ior somfin. theRES jusat all dis brick aaround and it REMInds you of aalll those raaapist alleys on tv. thesed dudes are LAUGHING at you u aren't gunna tAK@ that SHIT. theere kinda up closee to you and You DONT like thaaat at all!!!! you headabut a dude Int hthe stomach and he FALLS but his driends are MAD now. 

ones got a gunn . he pullss it out of hits pants. the oothers havee some knivess? youuure kinda scared noww.

“Hey, friends?” you aask htem. yoouc guyss can be freeidns! You'lll forgivve them! “I don't want trouble, so could you like, maybe, back away! I have peons to count!” wait nO thats wroogn theyres supposed to couunt FOUR you. 

tey say ssomethingg reaaly rude bu t you guess you donnt really prcess it? Bhut it muakes yor heart thumpp REALLY LOUD andnnd u start abcking up but u ahve no whr3 to go so u sit daown . u donat evn yell becasause your heartt is thumpoing loud and one of them kics u in the annke. Likke testing the watters It doessnt really huurt though & they just laaaaugh and laaaaaauuughhh and duade teeels you to spread um so you covery our eaars

they grabb your arm But you diht have anY ide@ what tO doo annf you trrry to remember hoow to ppunch like yoour sober but alal yoou can remmember is theh mastter theeorm T(n)=a*T9n/b) + O(pleassse sommbody help) aand oonnee of em croouches down to your level

you try to scratch his facee but but yoiuur nails aree really sshort and you feeel reallLy dUMB anannd you msiss anyway... ddude ppriesS YOUr kNEES APART and spppuushhhes your dresss up but yoURE SO SCARED YOU caant move!!! Youre tryyying so haharrd but aall you can doo is jus t cover your ears plase end pplease and you feeell sausagge fingersss dry and scrrattchy i==oh godd please end

buat then theres a whooooooooooooshhh and feathers EVERYWHERE aand theyre pusheed away by stronng bonesss of a bird

“Hey, let's get you out of here.”

he=MAGICKS their gunnnns away and thayer like lying on the Street now aandndn you feeL soo reelieved youu JUST start gcrying!!! righht there!!!! Nad u never consid3reed wantaing to 8e a magical BOY but that waould be cool tooo

“Look, Harley,” magiical boy rubbss head withh His wimpyhaands . Heee hshakes hiss head like hee's upset??? “I'm going to take you to a hospital so loop your flabby upper arms around my manly physique and we'll fly. And, uh, try not to vomit all over me. I just got this muscle shirt drycleaned.”

thYE areNT FlAABBy theyre fuckign gorgeoous “You're... flabby!” you are so dam n elloquent also noway are you goooin g to a hospital youre just finee “Take me to my apartment!”

“There's no way in seven fucks I will take you to your apartment. You need someone to look after your drunk ass.”

“Then take care of me, magical boy!” u loop ur gorgeoius upper arms around him annd flly fly fly uppp. u spiit out ur address annd alsooo the conntents of ur sttoomach. but not on maagical boy! justt like he waanted.

\---

You look at the red LED clock on the oven, five AM. You're on your black futon, the light's still on, and your head is pounding. You think you're still a bit drunk, but that doesn't stop you from recalling recent events. You feel like throwing up, but not because you drank too much. You yank your knees to your chest and start to cry. You are not hindered by any crying-related social rules in your own apartment, so your sobs are as loud as death itself.

“Hey, you awake?”

What the hell? You sit up too fast and you feel your head pumping harder. You're not sure where the voice came from, so you look to the right to your adjoining kitchen. Nobody is there.

“Down here, dumbass.”

You've got a leather footrest placed between the television and the futon. He's leaning against it, facing away from you, reading your Cosmo subscription you got as a joke. The burglar turns towards you, jingling like Christmas day.

You would recognize that rattling noise anywhere, it's Insufferable #2.

“How did you get in my apartment?” you shriek. You grab your autopistol under the futon and rack the slide. You take aim at his head. You do this a little too fast, and your head reels. But you keep your arm steady. Insufferable #2 throws his hands up and shakes.

“Calm down, Harley, I'm the guy who saved you. You know, raven themed? Master thief of the night?”

Wings unfurl from his back. They're bigger than the room and knock your fox girl poster off the wall. Your gun arm lowers. No way. A magical boy? Insufferable #2? That's not even fair. How could he- Your thoughts turn back to that dark alleyway. He tilts his head. He jingles again.

“Hey, are you okay?”

You start to cry. How could you be so weak? How could you mess up so badly? You cover your face with your hand, trying to retain some semblance of dignity when this kid is watching you. You shouldn’t have needed anyone to save you! You should have been strong!

You feel him take the gun from you and place it on the ground. It's light and tentative—he pulls it from you with gentle deliberation. You nod, snot dripping down your lip with alarming speed, and hide in your hands once again. He pats your back, unsure and filled with empathy. He leaves briefly, coming back with a box of tissues from your bathroom.

You sob harder, your chest wracked with uncontrollable lurches. You stay like that for so long. You don't count the hours, you just ask yourself why? why? why? But there isn't a response.

You calm yourself down. You decide hot cocoa will help (hot cocoa helps anything!), so you get up to make some. But magical boy stops you and says he'll make some for you. You laugh when he spills the mix on himself. It's one of those choked out laughs that comes after a cry and it feels good. So you laugh again at his curse words. 

“Do you have a shrine to Spinneret on your fridge?” he asks when he's warming the milk.

“Uh, well, sort of?” you sigh. It is a little embarrassing that you fangirl over her so much. “Do you know her?”

You've always wanted to meet Princess Spinneret. She's so strong and powerful, and she's not afraid of anything. She knows what to do and when to do it in every possible situation, and the media eats her up. If you could even get her autograph... Wow, that would make your whole year! 

“Nope. I don't really get buddy buddy with any magical girls. There's no secret club or any such shit like that.”

You're disappointed. You wanted an autograph. Or even a cut of her hair? That would be a little creepy. But you decided that if you were ever to become a magical girl, you would want to be one just like her! She's pretty much your magical girlsona.

Morning sun floats in from the window. You squint. The sun hits Karkat's face too and he grins at you, carrying two cups of the sweetest cocoa you'll ever have.

You both talk for a while. Well, you alternatively cry and laugh and magical boy listens. You discover he's not so awful, that he can really stay quiet when it's important, and that his name is Karkat Vantas. He has now moved down your Insufferable list to at least #15. 

You ask him what it's like to be a magical boy.

“Well, its got it's perks, like if I'm late for school I can just fucking fly there.” He makes a flying plane motion with his hand. “But even I have a weakness. And it's a pain in the ass.”

“Oh yeah? Is it like, cutting off your hair or something?”

“No. That's a lame weakness.” He goes to the kitchen, pouring himself another mug. “It's kind of just completely arbitrary though, like more of an inconvenience than an actual determent to my strength.”

“Tell meeee,” you say, hugging a pillow.

“Calm your shit.” He comes back, chugging his chocolate. “When I really like a girl, like wanna give her flowers and candy and all that romantic nonsense, and I run into her... I'll turn into my 'magical boy' form, as you so lovingly called it.”

You laugh. “Has that ever happened in public?”

“Yeah, once. But... it never got requited.”

“Requited?”

“If I get some poor sucker to like me back, then I can stay in this punk-ass form.” He grins and points to his maraca of a face.

“Yeah, like that will ever happen!” You laugh and he calls you a string of names. You hit each other with pillows until you fall asleep.

\---

It only happened once. You said something in a park you don't remember anymore and he laughed and great black wings folded around you both.

\---

“Ooo, Harley and piercing dude sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-”

You were standing up to leave. Karkat shudders and turns around towards her. You elbow him. “My name's Karkat.”

She leans over the counter. “The bag of coins can talk? I thought you were a shoddily assembled robot this whole time!”

“At least I don't have a dildo for an arm.” He moves his head closer to her.

Vriska scrunches her eye. Her lip curls. “You look... Really familiar...” Her eyebrow raises over her eyepatch. You watch a small smile creep across her face.

“Hey, back off.” you say. “Let's go, Karkat.”

You push him down the aisle. Vriska yells at you both. “Harley, you shouldn’t be dating a loser like that. Hang out with me and I'll show you a real winner.”

You sit on the grass outside your lecture hall. “I think she likes you,” says Karkat. “And not in the friend way. In the 'I have a steaming lump of crush on you but I'm 6 years old on the playground so I'm just going to tease the nuts off of you' kind of way.”

“Wow, no way, you're so observant.” You roll your eyes. Karkat isn't sure if you're being sarcastic and he frowns. You totally were, but you like keeping your boy on his toes. “Maybe I should really tell her off next time?”

“If you need help, my detailed encyclopedia of insults is at the ready for you.”

“I'll let you know.” You pat his back.

\---

You learn the workings of the magical world from your boyfriend. You learn the names of a few of the girls, but Karkat is kind of a loser and doesn't know them all. You admire how powerful and fantastic and strong they are. You make a resolution to be like them, like Princess Spinneret. You've become determined to protect the innocent, just like how Karkat once protected you. 

So you pull out your sewing machine last used by your grandmother, and you make yourself a costume. You base the style and color off your favorite magical girl. Her theme is ballerina, because she's graceful yet deadly. Your theme will be magician, because you're tricking people into believing you have magic powers. You make yourself a hat that looks smaller on the outside, but holds all sorts of useful stuff. You use what you've learned in your physics classes to construct balloons and oddities. You use your knowledge of chemistry to make smoke pellets and bombs that stick to whatever they touch.

When you put your costume on, you're a warrior with a top hat.

You start small. You practice with chasing pickpockets and little thieves. You help Karkat with stopping robberies. You patrol the streets at night. You throw your bombs and fly away on large balloons and disappear in a flash of smoke. You have the most fun you've ever had in your whole life. You save girls from the terrors of the night and your heart spreads with warmth when their tears sparkle with gratitude.

You become as competent in the magical girl business as Karkat. You haven't run into any of your newfound kin in your adventures, but he tells you that they usually go after the bigger stuff.

You ask what kind of bigger stuff. The things he doesn't search for. He tells you about the supernatural things, the beasts in the dark, how those born magical don't know of their origins. You decide you'll go after these mysteries next.

You find a giant rat in the sewers. It's rank and poisonous and difficult and when you take it down you shine like the stars.

You kill a flying raptor, a possessed velvet suit, an armored alien carrying buckets. You wonder how you missed these things as a normal civilian.

It's in early January when you run into another magical girl.

You're with Karkat. It's a little before lunchtime, and you both decided to get into your costumes to spice up the routine. You both sit on your giant, yellow balloon, and Karkat steers your direction with his wings.

You pass a fairly public street with a slew of residential apartments near the sidewalks. There's a scuffle below you on top of a building, so you gesture for Karkat to guide you both down. When you hit the roof, you collapse your balloon into your hat. You don't put it on your head, in case if you need to grab something on the fly.

It's her. The one you've been looking at through grainy newspaper articles for all this time. Black and white doesn't even begin to capture the sheer power she radiates. You stand there, like a total dumbass, just watching the girl you have a shrine to. Her ballet tutu swirls around her as she rotates en-pointe, sending a wave of dark wind into--- wait, is that a clown?

He topples, knocking his neck against the concrete border around the roof. He falls over the edge and you inhale with the thump of his body against the ground. She disposed of that enemy like it was no big deal.

She finally sees you. You try to keep cool, try to strike a pose, but your stupid grin doesn't falter and you can't stop bouncing on your heels. She walks over to you, each ballet shoe placed directly in front of the other, graceful and poised. Her hips look so good in that tutu when she sways with her steps.

Karkat grabs your arm. He shudders. “I knew you looked familiar.” Did he know Princess Spinneret? No fair, he was holding out on you!

She's only four feet away now, within reaching distance, or maybe even hugging distance. A smile creeps across her black lips. You smile back, but you know you've seen that smile before...

“Heeeeeeeey Harley. I didn't know you were a magical girl.”

You try to deny it. You try to say something to yourself like 'oh, they just have the same voice!' But you have to create more lies with every passing second. Oh, their bone structure is just the same, oh, the way she moves her arms is just the same, oh, they're just kind of the same person. You watch her crack in your mind. Princess Spinneret breaks into Vriska Serket, painfully blond, stuck up, Insufferable Vriska Serket. You try to pick up the pieces of her persona, try to construct something tangible again, but your dream is crushed. Your idol is just a faulty bitch.

“Jade...” says Karkat.

You think your old self might have cried when she found out what an awful creature Princess Spinneret turned out to be. You try to listen for signs of sadness in yourself, but the only thing that plays for you is the slow drum of anger.

“Little normal girl tries to play with the cool kids?” she laughs. “Little normal girl wants to be a winner?” She gets into your face. You feel her breath on your nose. “You should have stuck with the popular girl instead of picking the last kid on the playground.”

She's teasing you. You can't look at it like she's just poking fun at you-- something grade schoolers do when they like somebody. Your mind darts around that conclusion, instead settling on the fact that she's just a huge bitch. You feel hurt by her words, they're shallow and lame, but they resonate with something deep inside you. You hate it. You want her to stop.

She looks at your hand. “What's in the hat? Huh?”

“Jade... C'mon, lets go.” says Karkat.

“Can I look in it?” she asks. The question snaps you back to the now. Karkat's tugging on your arm, pulling back in a motion of retreat. You shake your head. You start to follow Karkat's suggestions. Vriska's fangs pop from behind her lips as you grab Karkat's hand. She hisses. “Oh, come on, you little bitch.” She tries to yank the hat from your hands, but you hold onto it. 

She knocks it into you, and you stumble, causing your tricks to fly out. Smoke surrounds you. You cough and cough, crumpling into your knees.

You hear a slow beep when the smoke clears. The noise is the exact pitch of your timed sticky bombs. You try to find where it landed. 

Karkat finds it first.

“Fuck.”

Vriska pulls you towards the other side of the building as Karkat's wing shatters. You hear the splinter of bones, delicate knuckles ripping on the tips of his wing, the meaty sound of muscle torn from its base. A lump of something lands next to you. A wet hunk of feathers and skin hits the back of your neck. Liquid drips down your collar. You face him with shaking legs. He falls into his human form, his head thudding against the roof, before he begins to scream. He doesn't move, his nose and cheek planted into the concrete. His voice is muffled and painful, sputtering out in elastic gargles. You watch the back of his shirt fill up with red blood. Your stomach lurches with the realization that the chunk of trapezius that used to be there is now three feet away from you. It reminds you of pulp. Vertebrae and bone splinters surround the pulverized muscle like confetti. 

“Well that sucks,” says Vriska. Karkat's scream wanes. Vriska's voice gets louder. Her fingers roll against her hips. “Your own fault for keeping all that dangerous stuff in your hat. If you were a real magical girl you wouldn’t have any of that though. And your precious Karkat would be just fine.”

She winks like she's playing you. You hate everything she stands for. You hate you didn't do shit to stop this. You hate that you're weak. You hate that she's pushing you towards the only resolution you can see. You hate that you're weak.

You hate you were never born a magical girl. You hate you had to be rescued. You hate that you're weak. You hate Princess Spinneret. You hate Vriska Serket. 

You ball your fists up. The knuckles on your gloves split. Your teeth feel like they're about to shatter. 

“Should have stuck with me. Now look at what you've caused.” Vriska makes a tut noise with her tongue, and wags a finger at you. “You're just a little normal girl. A little girl with a bag of tricks who can't protect anyone." 

She grins. "Especially not herself.”

Your mouth drops open, your tongue pushing out the anger in your throat. You rush her. Your body pumps with blood to the beat of her head bouncing against the concrete. You pin her with your knees. She shrieks and you hate her voice so you have to shut her up. You remember how to punch. You hit her. And you hit her. And you hit her. Each crack against her skull adds tempo. You feel your skin chafe. You feel fissures develop in her cheek. You feel her sweat and tears stain your gloves. She feels like the hard outer shell of a cockroach. Her blood warms your knuckles. She stops screaming. You keep hitting.

“I wanted to be you!” you yell. You yell so loud you know she can hear it.

“You were my favorite”

a beat 

“but now I know” 

beat 

“you're a disgusting”

beat 

“moldy”

beat 

“rotting” 

beat 

“cunt”

You don't notice what emerges above you. You don't notice the white light that surrounds you. You don't notice a girl with a deck of cards arrive. You don't notice Karkat's last gasp.

Your name is Jade Harley.

And you've always wanted to be a magical girl.


	3. Connect/Round Dance Revolution

Your name is Roxy Lalonde.

And you're about to break up with your girlfriend.

(If her damn phone would ever stop ringing).

“I'm sorry babe, I guess I gotta answer this,” she says. She rolls off the couch, picking up her iPhone, and popping it to her ear. “Meenah? What up, gurl? You're interrupting my sexy time.”

You lean against the arm of your couch. You could sure use a drink right now, calm your nerves fireworking out of control. But Latula shamed you off of that habit too, reserved it for social situations like a normal or rational person. You were never either of those things.

“What? She what?” Latula plugs her left ear. Like you're making any sort of squawk to disturb her phone call. You're fucking perfect, you're like a Barbie bought for 60's housewives. Your girl is pushing you down with her false personality you know can be cracked like porcelain. She only likes games for bros. She never wipes her shoes on the rug. She cries after sex. She's obsessed with her retarded –wait, you mean handicapped, you're not feeling THAT cranky-- ex who died from a brain hemorrhage because he wasn't wearing a fucking helmet. 

“I... Fuck....” Latula collapses to the floor. “C'mon, Meenah, you're pulling my hair.”

You watch her, a sneaking suspicion overtaking your innards that maybe you should rub her back, or touch her shoulder, or at least do something. But you don't. Because while you're not THAT cranky, you're still pretty goddamn cranky.

She stops the call, and stares at her phone. You don't ask her what happened, but it's tugging at your conscience now and you feel relieved you know you at least have some feeling left for her.

“My sister's dead.” she says. 

You weren't expecting that. Your heart begins to pump with blood once more, and you hurry to her, pulling her into a hug. You try to fill it with enough light and love to heal her, but you're having a hard time mustering those emotions. She takes it though. She buries her face in your shoulder like she does when she's trying to hide the fact she's not actually such a cool girl. Your sleeve becomes wet, but it'll dry later.

You guess you wont be breaking up with her tonight. Or even this week.

\---

She sleeps in your bed. As you watch her chest rise and fall, you wonder what road you traveled to get here. You remember the beginning, the little moments, the shining gems in a pile of coal. She used to have button tapping contests with you. She used to give you piggyback rides on her skateboard. She used to lock your pinky fingers together and kiss the knuckles. She used to braid your hair when she didn't think anybody was looking.

But now it's just the same three video games, an outing when you beg her to go, and arguments where you bring up each others mistakes. Now you've been looking at the other girls' asses, thinking about what you want in a partner, daydreaming about being swept away in some sort of stereotypical chick flick moment. You're done with this.

You're tired. You're tired of the same.

\---

You go out with her on the weekend. Like you always do. You do it to restore a sense of normalcy for her, and to try and salvage what's left of your bond... At least for the next few months.

You order her the usual drink, the cosmopolitan with blue Gatorade in a glass meant for long island iced teas, with two little swords twisted inside a half a lime over the top. She says what she always says, how special it is you ordered this drink for her. How special it is. How special you are. And you call her special too and you both laugh, but you can never hear her over the music of da club. It pounds in your ears and it sticks with you even when you're playing post-da club, post-coital Super Smash Brothers.

On the way home, you argue. You try to stop yourself, to hold yourself back at that red light, but you can't help it. You're not even tipsy. You never get tipsy these days. It's about something stupid, about the rug you sit on when you play games, about how it scratches Latula's ass so hard she can't fucking focus.

“I just lose my game concentration, Rox!” she stamps her tennis shoes against the sidewalk. She never dresses up, she thinks it's too 'girly.' “I can't fucking win with that piece of shit rug!”

Her glasses get pushed up on her cheeks when she's mad. You hate it. “I think we should break up.” It slips out like over buttered popcorn. It's sudden and hits her in the face, leaving sticky grease trailing behind on her nose.

“Are you serious, Roxy?” she says. You're on the sidewalk. On the corner between two buildings. Neon lights flash with signs advertising shit vodka and whiskey. “You know, I don't even like going to your club. I think it's where stupid sheep hang out.”

“Where did that even come from?” You push her shoulder. She takes a while balancing herself. She's drunk and you know it and she knows it.

“I just go because you like it! I see you and all those people and I fucking wished you would look at me like you do those crowds.” She starts to cry.

“You're rambling, honey bee,” you say. “I didn't mean it, let's go home.”

“No!” she yells. “You did! You meant it. You fucking did. Do you know how my sister died, Roxy? Do you know how she died?”

You back against the brick building, watching the tears stream under her red glasses. She's mad like a tiger and you don't want to get caught in that cage. 

“She was absorbed, Rox!”

You hear the sound of glass shattering. Latula hears it too, she whips her head around and stares at the junction of the street. A woman in black floats out of space, her dress finer than china, her garters sticking out with no shame.

And you know it's totally inappropriate, it's completely wrong to think what you're thinking at a time like this.

But she's beautiful.

You're not one to believe in love at first sight. You relish the romance novels, the cheap dollar store harlequins, but you never thought this could happen to you. She's the most gorgeous thing you've ever seen. Every swirl across her arm, every little hair on her head, the shade of her skin in the night, even the weird candycane horns she has sticking out of her head makes you want to worship her. You're filled with a sort of nostalgia, something thick and sad like a spilled milkshake.

She looks at you. She smiles, her lips plump and black, but the heart shape quickly turns into a thin tremor. You would give your life's happiness to her in a heartbeat if you could make her smile again.

Latula kicks you down. You're stunned when you hit the concrete. You flip over on your back. She's wearing something different now, a spunky military outfit with a sword. She's got horns and gray skin too. She's got her teeth clamped down like a vice and her attention is focused on the character who just appeared in blinding white light.

You hate him already.

“Leave them be, Cronus.” says the space girl. “You've had your fill with the other two.”

“Porrim! We usually meet in darker circumstances. Does your hate for me transcend boundaries? How romantic.” He plucks a feather from his wing and tries to present it to her like a rose.

“Only my hate for your outfit. You look terrible.” She doesn't take the feather, just looks at him dead in the eye.

“Hey, I can't control that. Don't judge me, vile temptress. I identify as a Greek god and I am empowered by that.”

“Yo, sorry for interrupting,” Latula taps her sword against her thigh. Her spanx are red and so is your face. “But could one of you inform a girl what's going on?”

“Oh, right, I almost forgot.” The disgusting man shrugs and his wings reach over to Latula. She swipes at him with her sword, but she stumbles with a drunken haze and falls into light. His wings retreat, and she's gone. You stay tuckered to the concrete, your hands pressed to your forehead.

Holy shit. She's gone. She's actually gone. The Cronus guy licks his lips. “Tastes... Radical.”

The gray woman shoots him with an arrow. He flinches and disappears. Her dress flutters in some non-existent wind. You stand.

“Hello, Roxy.”

“Do I know you?” you ask. Perfect question, just finish it with 'because I don't recognize you with your clothes on.'

“Not yet,” she says. She floats towards you. The inner lining of her dress is filled with stars, but that isn't any fabric you recognize. Besides for the actual fabric of space, of course. “Are you worried about Latula?” Her voice sounds like velvet on bare skin.

“I...” you want to say yes, yes you are. And you are, you really are. But something bitter and dark stops your heart from continuing, so you let that 'I' linger, unblinking.

“Why don't you answer?” she points to your breast, touching that odd little bone sticking out from your upper boob that's always bothered you. “Can you find what's stopping you?”

“What are you?” you ask.

“I'm a magical girl. Like Latula, like Cronus-- to an extent.” she says. “We're born amongst you, destined to help humanity.”

You think this sounds silly, stereotypical, right out of one of your gay bff's animes. Was Latula hiding that from you all this time? Jesus. “Are you a special one or something? I mean, you don't have a schoolgirl outfit or anything, you have a fuckin' ballgown made of space.”

Her lip piercing bobs with her smile. “I suppose I'm kind of an oddball. I'm trying to prevent a full resurrection.”

“Are you the anti-Christ?”

“If Christ is a misogynistic tool, then yes.” She fades without warning, her stars snuffing out in a flash of light. “See you later, Roxy.”

She's gone. You're alone on the street. You fall to your knees. You forgot to ask her how she knew your name.

\---

You somehow made it to a Wal-Mart and have been sitting in the food area since the sun rose. It's a plastic round table and the bench hurts your ass. Magical girls? You heard of them in the news, especially that attention whore ballerina, but you dated one of them? When did she even fight crime? Isn't that some sort of responsibility for magical girls? Who the hell designed her costume? Was it her? Was it destiny?

And will you see Latula again? 

You're not even sad, you're just confused. What the hell even happened? 

Someone sits next to you. You turn your head for the first time in six hours. A glop of drool falls down your chin.

“Looking peachy, Roxy.” says a girl with a pierced face.

You wipe off the drool with your thumb. It just kind of smears on your face. Shit. “Uh, who are you?”

“Don't you recognize me?”

Oh, it's the ballgown anti-Christ. Minus the gray skin and horns. She still has those wicked tits though. Wait, you meant tats. Tats.

“My name is Porrim, if you're wondering.” She leans on her hands. Her wrists are thin and you want to lick them like candy canes. “I believe you are confused and I've come to offer some exposition.”

“Great, I love me some exposition.” You do, it's your favorite part of novels. “Explain away, Porrim. But do it in purple prose.”

“Purple prose isn't my style. I'll just tell you straight up, since we have a limited amount of time.” You make your 'sarcastic-yet-disapproving' duckface. Her perfectly waxed eyebrows raise. “You've met Cronus, the douchebag seraph. He's part of our race, the race of the original population of Earth. This 'original population' possessed mighty powers, but they ended up destroying our species. Humanity slowly took over in the genepool, but some remnants remain, as evidenced by our magical girls.” She licks her bottom lip. It's plump and you want to kiss it. “Cronus and I are part of the time when our species ruled over humanity. But the society we were members of was misogynistic, one that disguised itself as a matriarchy while actually oppressing its females through assigned roles.”

“Wow, thems the shits.”

“Agreed. When the first waves of change began to creep over our society, Cronus rebelled. He hated the new shift in roles and the new species that was taking over. He harnessed a great power and tried to stop progress.”

“What kind of power?”

“Hatred. He tried to use love, but that didn't exactly resonate with him, much to his dismay.” She looks at her watch. Her voice picks up speed. “Of course, I was vehemently against this, and did everything in my power to stop him. I have chased him throughout space and time, but I have never been successful. His recent increase in followers shows his level of power, and I'm afraid he will defeat me this time. If he does, be prepared for a change in society. Magical peoples ruling those born without powers. Unfair and unjust and most probably violent.”

Your ankle bumps against her leg. You have the hugest lady boner right now. “So, uh, why are you telling me this? I hate to inform you I'm not a magical girl, although it would be totally radical if I were.”

“Because I fight with love, and in all this time, running into you has been the happiest coincidence I've ever experienced.”

The wall nearest you is knocked down, and white light bursts out of the windows.

“That's our queue.” Porrim flashes with black light, her bow appearing in her hands. She transforms into her gray skinned form-- remarkably fast in comparison to all the other magical girl transformations you've seen on TV.

The table vanishes, and you predictably fall on your ass. Porrim stands you up. She floats to your face, her breath fogging your nose up, and she kisses you.

\---

It's completely black. No floor, no ceiling, no walls, just the dark. You feel at home for some reason. You can see yourself and Porrim as clear as if you were on stage. Her arm warms your shoulder.

“How do you feel about that kiss?” she asks.

Soft lips remind you of nice thighs. But you search deeper and you find yourself unmade and unsettled like old bedsheets. You don't know how to answer.

“How did you know my name?”

“I'm a special magical girl. I have a good sense of these things.” she winks.

Cronus appears. He swirls up from beneath you like a drill, his wings making a huge and obnoxious spectacle. Light hurts your eyes and your face and even your ears. 

“Hey, Roxy, do you like me?”

“Yeah,” you say. You do, Porrim is a cutie. You'd totally get coffee or something with her.

“Good enough!” she draws her bow, a thundering arrow of darkness threading its tail in the string, and releases. She hits Cronus' wing. Feathers implode in the void, and they gather in front of you. Cronus lets out a lame little scream.

“That's not fair, I didn't even get a chance to block that!”

“You've learned by now you have to always be prepared, Cronus.”

The feathers take the form of Latula. Wait, no, it's a miniature version of Latula. Different glasses, different hair, a floofy red dress like cake. 

“It smells much better out here.”

“You two have a nice talk now,” says Porrim. You lower into the void, or maybe she and Cronus slide above you. You feel like you're in a broken elevator from one of those horror movies. You look up, and you see the yin and yang fighting a battle with a lot of flashy lights.

“Hey,” you say to the cake girl. You're not sure what Porrim meant by 'have a nice talk.' “You wouldn’t happen to know Latula, would you?”

Mini-Tula taps her staff against her thigh. “She's my sister. Do you know her, Ms. Bubblegum?”

“Yeah, she's my girlfriend.” your voice cracks a bit. 

“Oh, you're Roxy.” she sticks her tongue out. It drips with saliva and she reminds you of a dog. “I taste deceit in your words. Are you treating her right?”

You don't answer. She grabs the collar of your shirt and yanks you to her face. “Are you treating her right?”

“I'm trying!”

She tightens her grip.

“Okay, I'm just kind of bored with the relationship.”

“You know she quit the magical girl business after you showed up?” the girl growls, her teeth look like meat grinders. “You'd better be pretty thankful for my cool sister!”

Did she quit being a magical girl for you? All the nights you've spent together are filled with couple activities, she never leaves your side. She couldn’t have hidden that secret from you for so long if she kept the routine of fighting bad dudes.

You hear Cronus' cries. Three more new friends appear near you. They stand, looking lost, not seeing each other. One is a magical ballerina girl. One is a girl like you. One is a boy with a lot of piercings. 

Mini-Tula doesn't look at them. She drops your collar. “I think Ms. Green Apple Erotica needs my help. I am not quite sure what circumstances surround their battle, but I know that Cronus is a man who needs to be slapped by the spry hand of justice.”

She pulls out a card and strikes it with the head of her dragon staff. She jumps to an impossibly high level to join Porrim in battle. 

None of the three are talking to each other. They stand, their heads lowered, their hands wringing. You can feel the radiation of shame bursting off their faces.

“How'd you all get absorbed?” you ask, trying to start some semblance of conversation. Porrim obviously needs you to talk, so talk you shall. “Not sure if absorbed is the correct term to use for that, I mean, from what I can tell you get eaten by feathers or something.” They don't say anything. The sole of your shoe is detaching. “You didn't happen to see a girl in there? Latula? Black hair, horns, rather radical?”

The girl in the magician outfit collapses onto her knees. She buries her head in her hands. The ballerina girl hisses through her teeth. The boy just blinks, his face a marble frown.

Whoever these three are, they sure have plenty of problems to work out. You thank your stars that you don't have those kind of deep seated issues with your girlfriend. In fact, the petty squabbles you've had seem tame in comparison to the emotions the three in front of you are pumping out. You think of boredom in your relationship. Why were you feeling that? Because you were insecure about being in a stable relationship? Because you're a little bit afraid of domesticity? Because you're a little bit afraid of commitment?

Maybe you shouldn’t have tried to break up with her like that. Maybe you should have addressed your insecurities with her instead of blowing them off and running away.

An arrow lands between your feet. You look up. Mini-Tula is bleeding, her right arm a mess of teal. Her staff quivers in her other hand. One of Porrim's stockings is calked up with blood.

You want them to hit his wings again. Maybe there's a chance your girlfriend will come out. Maybe you can talk and laugh with her again.

Maybe you can start things over.

Cronus flashes white, sending a bright beam of light into Porrim. She screams, like breaking glass, and falls limp. She lands on some unseen floor above you, green apple blood pouring out of the wound.

Mini-Tula doesn't stand a chance. The ballerina in front of you snaps to attention and rises up to help her. They are both blown away by the great negative force radiating around Cronus.

Your vision gets blurry. Well shit, there's no way you'll be able to see her now. Your epiphany of maybe actually thinking you should communicate with your girlfriend will go unheard. You wont be able to forge your relationship from the ashes once more. You will die in a void alone. 

You remember the little things. You remember the way her hair flicks in the wind. You remember the pitch of her voice. You remember the tilt of her lips when she beat you at a minigame. You remember.

“Latula!”

She materializes from the dust of down. She grabs your waist and yanks you up, level to your enemy. She tilts you backwards and pulls your soul from your chest.

Your soul is a pink katana. Together, you slice into the body of Cronus and glisten down his abdomen, sending a final cry from the heart of hatred.

\---

When the void disappears, you're in the middle of some street, and you're back to your old self. Latula's there too, her face framed by black hair, her horns sparkling with the sun. She's kneeling with you, a cool smile spread across those soft cheeks. You flock to her arms, your tears soaking her shoulder, and you feel complete for the first time in a long while.

\---

You head for the meetup cafe around lunchtime, new games in a plastic grocery bag around your shoulder. Latula holds your hand, her pleather half-glove massaging your palm. You sit in a wooden booth with triangle patterned cushions. You have Latula save your spot while you go buy sandwiches. 

You see the two girls you found in the void at the table near the cash register. They've got a pile of books and notes scattered about. They're looking away from each other, words left unspoken between them. Maybe they're trying to sort out their problems too? You wish them luck.

When you return with your sandwiches, Porrim is across from your girl, engaged in conversation.

She greets you and you sit down next to Latula. “I'm glad everything worked itself out,” she says, stealing a potato chip from your plate. “You really came through, Roxy. Even the clowns are gone.”

“Did you expect me to do that?”

“Of course she did!” says Latula, her hand rubbing your back. “You always complete a quest when the people need a great gal to save them!”

“Yes, this quest was tailored to you, in particular. I needed someone who was in the right place at the right time, and who could use their own new found love to summon power to defeat such great hate.”

"And that badass power happened to be me,” says Latula, flexing a muscle. “I'm glad we've gotten over that little bump in our relationship.”

“Me too!” you laugh and squeeze her hand. You are so fucking domestic it hurts. But it hurts so good.

“I'll see you both around,” Porrim says. “I hope you enjoy your sandwiches.”

You wave goodbye, and you bump knees with your girl. You have a contest to decide who can eat faster, Latula wins, you owe her a soda. You laugh and you pat her shoulder.

“So, can I keep you around as a sword? You make a pretty rad weapon, Rox.”

“Maybe sometimes, but you have to keep dragging my soulless corpse around for safe keeping.”

“It'll be fun! Like challenge mode.” she twirls a lock of hair around her pinky. “I'm glad you're keen with my Radical Girl Latula scheme. I gotta keep the streets safe out there for girls like us.”

“Of course, I am all behind safety first.”

When you get home, you make out, get drunk on hot chocolate and Bailey's, and play a Barbie game while swearing up a storm. You get sober in bed, eating ice cream and laughing about the day's events.

Your name is Roxy Lalonde.

And you have the best damn magical girlfriend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Homestuck character - Magical Girl Character - Series
> 
> Terezi - Sakura - Card Captor Sakura  
> Meenah - Sailor Moon - Sailor Moon  
> Nepeta - Mew Ichigo - Tokyo Mew Mew  
> Jade - Saint Tail - Saint Tail  
> Karkat - Dark Mousy - D.N.Angel  
> Vriska - Princess Kraehe - Princess Tutu  
> Latula - Utena - Revolutionary Girl Utena  
> Porrim - Goddess Madoka - Puella Magi Madoka Magica  
> Cronus - Michel - Mermaid Melody Pichi Pichi Pitch


End file.
